It's All Just a Desperate Game
by Sevanadium
Summary: "It's all just a desperate game, isn't it?" Francis sat frog-legged on the floor, his back is hunched, and yet, he continued to glare at Arthur through defiant eyes. Arthur loses it and not only does it affect Francis, but Francis' younger brother Matthew as well.


"It's all just a desperate game, isn't it?"

Francis sat frog-legged on the floor, his back is hunched, and yet, he continued to glare at Arthur through defiant eyes. Unbidden, images ripped their way through his mind and he was left no choice but to cease eye-contact with the deathly green stare.

Ignorant of the change in Francis, Arthur carried on. "Francis, why couldn't you have helped him? Surely you could have? I mean he was right there and you did absolutely nothing."

Oh god, he was right. What had he done? Just stood there as Arthur played puppet-master with Gilbert and Matthew – one was his friend, the other his only family. Stood there, paralysed, as Gilbert gave one last pleading look towards Arthur before slowly turning towards Matthew, precious little Matthew, that deserved the best the world could give him and-

"Didn't you see it? How gleeful Gil looked as he twisted his hands around Mattie's throat?"

Shaking his head, he recalled the threats that Arthur whispered to them. Promises that he'd make Matthew's death a lot more torturous if Gilbert didn't listen to him. And because Gilbert loved Matthew so much, he did as he was told, he killed Matthew with his bare hands and left him lying there, in his dull red hoodie that he had worn that day, and then turned to Arthur, a resolute look in his eyes.

Death was what lay on the other end of the gun and he had accepted it.

High pitched giggles erupted from Arthur. "And you didn't even flinch. Did you not hear the gun as it made such a loud bang that even Mattie flinched? Francis is broken. Charming, confident Francis is clinging to sanity by the smallest threads."

And he was broken. Realisation didn't dawn on him like the sun coming out after two days of rain, but rather it dripped down his arms and onto the patterned carpet below. Arms that had cradled Gilbert and tried to plug the wound in his heart with slippery fingers that smelt of metal.

Whose heart did he need to plug now?

"Wouldn't you like to know what all of this is for?" Arthur's head tilted to the right and the eyebrows Francis had once likened to toothbrush bristles, climbed until they hid underneath a jagged hairline.

Silence wavered between them as Francis couldn't bring himself to answer. Could he even? Had his voice box been ripped from his throat, leaving him unable to utter a single word?

At the age of eighteen, Matthew was preparing himself for the big wide world. University was around the corner, and being the bright student he was, he had been accepted into an ivy league school. While Francis, on the other hand, had been flitting from job to job in hopes of finding something that would stick and turn into a fruitful career.

Arthur Kirkland, he had been the shy bookworm that Francis undeniably found himself attracted to. His instincts had always insisted that there was something behind the dour front that the man set up and naturally, Francis had been right, just not in the way that he expected.

Slowly, he moved his head from side to side. No.

"Tough luck then, I'm telling you anyways, love. Have you ever sat on the sidelines? And just wondered: what is it like to be a part of something, to be able to control people like putty? Of course you didn't. You've always been the kind of person that has people at your beck and call. Was there ever a day where you wished you were someone better than yourself?"

Did wanting to be more than a man that made coffee for a living count? In many ways, Francis had looked at Matthew with a longing look as he received more attention from his parents he ever did. Even so, he remained the older brother that always managed to protect when nightmares closed in or when parents divorced.

Now he had failed when it had been most important.

"Of course not. You're Francis Bonnefoy, the fabulous Frenchman that decided it was his job to make friends with the lonely man that sat in the corner of his domain and spent his days reading. Do you think you succeeded? Do you think you managed it by giving me the tip of the iceberg only to turn away and leave me by myself once again?"

Francis recalled the fight that had occured between them. While it had not been physical, it had caused injuries to them both. What he could not remember, was what it had been about. Just that it was the cause of many a broken cup in his apartment that he shared with Matthew as he vented out his frustration over a span of days

For the first time in hours, Francis spoke. "I'm sorry, Arthur."

The use of Arthur's name must have driven something home as the other man's face relaxed for a moment, and then his eyes widened and his lower jaw dropped slightly.

"I'm sorry that I've caused you so much grief in your life," Francis continued. "But you must not forget that at one point I thought the best of you, I-" Even though his voice was rough and scatchy and it hurt to speak, he could have continued, but Francis could not bear to admit what he had once dreamed of saying to Arthur over a bouquet of ruby red roses.

Throughout the entire conversation, Francis had kept his eyes averted from Arthur, but now he lifted them. His vision was hazy, his head was heady, and he had given up. Without Matthew, he didn't have anything to live for and to protect. It had been so many years since he had ruffled Matthew's hair and told him that he would look after him no matter what happened.

And he had failed.

"It's all just a desperate game isn't it?" Francis asked. "You're vying for power, you want to have control over me and what I do as you decide when my final moments are. Then so be it."

Francis dropped his head and bared his neck to Arthur, uncaring of what happened next.

"It's all just a desperate game, isn't it?"Francis sat frog-legged on the floor, his back is hunched, and yet, he continued to glare at Arthur through definiant eyes. Arthur loses it and not only does it affect Francis, but Francis' younger brother Matthew as well.


End file.
